


Variations

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-08
Updated: 2005-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 40 themed but unconnected drabbles for the price of none.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Variations One: Transformations

Those stairs always haunted him. The creaks and moans as he walked the eternal road to the top. The way he could never even walk back down from all that he feared. The stairs might have shortened, on the way down, if it were not for the pain. But mostly the fear, no matter how many times “It’s alright Moony, I’ve got you,” is whispered on the descent. And sometimes a new fear is bred, ever present. One which says “It won’t always be like this,” and asks quavering “When will that day come?” Far too soon, to all appearances.

* * *

He’s suffocating, everything swirling behind the lids of his eyes. The almost-but-not-quite memories tempt and tease his forsaken mind, sweeping by with the faint pretense of colours, but colours can’t penetrate here. Stone walls can’t crumble here, no matter how he tears his fingernails trying. He sees half-visions of a man, always the same, young, beautiful man, the only colour the faded red of the blood staining his skin. It wouldn’t mean much to him Who is this man? Not James. Not Peter, but he’s retained the feeling from that moment, where the beautiful boy bleeding is all his fault.

* * *

He watches Remus change, seeing the wolf-like body twisting, a perverted form trying to become something real. And then there’s Remus, screaming in anguish, an aversion to normal life. And he is bleeding and he is empty, and Sirius thinks How could this possibly have ever been worse before? But he gently puts his arms around that delicate frame so racked with pain and whispers gently what even he doesn’t know and waits impatiently for the day the moon finally falls out of the sky, because if it takes an apocalypse to save Remus, well it’s damn fine by him.

* * *

It’s sitting on the table, smoking and smelling of rancid something, and he simply doesn’t want to take it. He doesn’t want to absorb more chemicals into his system that will make him groggy for days and—he knows, as he has always known—slowly kill him. Dying faster and unaided is a tempting thought. It’s a selfish wish, to throw a longer life away for petty pride. But pride is one of the few things he´s clung onto in his short life. Yet somehow he’s also managed love, and he supposes that that’s reason to live longer—for Sirius.


	2. Chapter 2

Variations Two: Back to Innocence

There’s precious colder than the wind off the tower, something communally agreed upon. It was a terrible idea really, and he’s not sure why he thought of it, or why it matters so much he’s not alone. Just needed human contact, he supposes, and it’s not really lying to himself, because god knows he does. But it’s more than that. They can sit and watch the night slowly find morning, but he can tell in this moment there are things at work. So the frosty air he watches Remus exhale doesn’t matter, but the fact that he’s here at all.

* * *

They wrestle at the foot of the hill, just near the kind shade of the ash tree. Remus can hardly see for the sun that’s blinding him or the thrill he gets from simply doing this, this child-like, free instinct. He’s ridiculously happy just to be disregarding propriety and letting more primal instincts take over—like leopards at play—tussling at each other and mocking with fake threats. It’s not quite the same when it’s James or Peter, and he thinks that that probably means he should stop, but he’s willing to ignore that to keep a feeling so good.

* * *

Remus’ robes are worn and Sirius wants to do something about it. It’s half his fault that they get ruined, torn from the mischief he pulls Remus into, but Remus never accepts “charity”, and Sirius can’t very well retain a manly façade over thinking about this. He contemplates everything possible, before learning every sewing charm ever spelled. He realises this is not-so-vaguely pathetic, as he hems a pair of his robes to validate that he can’t wear them anymore. Remus, he knows, will not believe him, but this isn’t the sort of thing you can actually accuse someone of doing.

* * *

Sirius smiled from across the chessboard with his brilliant 101-watt grin. Remus found he couldn’t help but give a small smile back, no matter how hard he was trying to focus on the issue at hand. He simply didn’t see any way out of the inevitable, but he didn’t want to lose so fast. His hand hovered over the pieces, unsure. “Oh come on, Moony,” Sirius said, and before he knew it Sirius was taking his hand and guiding it to the knight. “Move this there and I’m checkmated.” Remus was shocked.  
“But you would have won-”  
“I don’t care.”


	3. Chapter 3

Variations Three: That Tangible Magic

No one can see them in their dark corner, dancing slowly to the song of their friends’, one last time before Lily and James leave. Remus’s head is resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, and gently rocking to the crooning of the singer. There’s magic floating somewhere in the room so that Sirius thinks he could touch it, if he could take his arms off the warmth that currently resides in them. Here there’s a real sort of magic—not just flimsy hexes and day-to-day spells—and he thinks, that though they’ll never have a wedding, they never needed one.

* * *

They are at his parents’ cottage, a quaint countryside home that his mother requested he house-sit while she is gone for the week. They are laying outside on a blanket, listening to muggle records and staring at the stars they can’t see in London—though Remus has the only star he needs. They are also completely love struck. It’s still warm because it’s summer, but nonetheless he can feel Sirius burrowing closer to him, under the unnecessary pretence of cold. The song switches to something they know and as Sirius whispers the lyrics into his ears, he slowly falls asleep.

* * *

He’s in a restless sleep, twisting the covers and kicking them off, and would probably have fallen off the bed by now, if it weren’t for the arms holding on to him so tightly. Said arms having just shooken him awake, “Y’okay, love?” having been mumbled in his ear.  
“S’just a baddream,” he replies feebly, thankful to have escaped it.  
“Iwon’ let’it getchu,” Sirius says, holding him just a little closer. But Sirius doesn’t know what Remus knows, that his dream isn’t a wolf, but Sirius wearing a mask and slowly torturing Remus to death. The tightened embrace is more-than-welcome.

* * *

It’s been twelve years. Twelve years since he’s had someone this close to him, since he’s had this someone close to him. This someone who will still run to the ends of the earth with him, willing to leave whatever he had back in England. Remus must have had some sort of life while he was in Azkaban, but then being a werewolf is only so much better than being a convict. In the end, it doesn’t matter though, because Remus still came, like all those years ago, and the feeling of being in his arms again can’t be replaced.


	4. Chapter 4

Variations Four: Mischievous Nights

The morning sun can’t pierce the curtains, a fact Remus is more than thankful for as Sirius slowly runs his tongue against his neck, rousing him from sleep. Outside the sun is undoubtedly bright and burning, but within the privacy of the curtains there’s still a semblance of darkness. He groans as Sirius continues his ministrations, straying further and further down his body. Remus knows they have class today and he knows that eventually James and Peter will come to wake them up and possibly see something they never wanted to, but there are times he could really care less.

* * *

He twists against the bonds currently restraining his arms, wondering that if Lily found out how her forgotten scarf is being used, whether she’d kill them immediately or hold a trial first. It’s not his fault Remus is so controlling. Well, maybe a little, for intentionally flirting with that one bloke, hoping to get a reaction out of his boyfriend. It wasn’t supposed to go this far though.  
But god, I love it when he’s like this, he thinks with what little coherency he has left as Remus finally pushes in after all that tempting. Sirius doubts he’ll last long.

* * *

They hide in the closet, having barely scrambled there in time. Someone is currently in the kitchen, getting a glass of water most likely, and Remus is glaring at Sirius, who is shaking with silent laughter. Of all times for someone (Tonks, by the noise) to come down, just when Remus had got Sirius on the table was the worst. Despite his attempts to remain fair and level-headed at all times, he was still entitled to a little frustration when having to flee into a broom cupboard, with a raging hard-on nonetheless. It just isn’t fair, is what it is!

* * *

His Moony hates the moon and he hates it. He covers his pale body and red scars with kisses, trying to tell Moony that he’ll always be there, that he won’t let the moon get him. Remus trembles at the touch, but he’ll never find that reassurance Sirius wants to give, because he has a hard time hearing promises he doesn’t think can be kept. All they have is that moment—that love in that time as Sirius caresses him and holds Remus a bit closer, because Remus has never had anything last forever, and knows this shall pass too.


	5. Chapter 5

Variations Five: The Ways I Come Back To You

It’s all there in this moment. He doesn’t know the details yet—hell, he doesn’t even know how any of this has happened—but Peter simply being alive has semi-permanently upset his logic, because if a man who was dead for twelve years isn’t, then the convict who was imprisoned for his murder could be innocent. Could is good enough for Remus, because after twelve years without these arms around him he’s feeling more than ready to give Sirius a chance, even if his basis for it is founded on biased and unconfirmed suspicions made in the past fifteen minutes.

* * *

It’s late-June and sweltering hot, and he can’t help but feel incredibly tetchy with absolutely everything. This is probably due to the fact that sometime soon he knows Sirius will come and possibly try to whisk him away into hiding with him, and how exactly do you appear to need convincing when you want to shout ‘YES’ on the street corner? He knows the “cat-and-mouse” game is stupid and he’s supposed to be too stable to get this insecure, but he’s in his thirties and in love as ever, and damn it if he’s not allowed to act immature sometimes.

* * *

He’s afraid to kiss him. He’s afraid of everything now really, but he can’t help but fear that if he kisses Remus, his soul will be sucked out because it’s been in jeopardy of happening for so long now. But if there’s anything worth celebrating it’s that his fear Remus still hated him was unfounded, and the fact that Remus is kind and patient and willing to help Sirius work back through those fears, (and pain and emptiness). There’s few people who could be as unfortunate as him but he can’t help but think they are also not as lucky.

* * *

Sirius stares at those eyes with longing. He sees in the normally warm and intelligent eyes only grief and hurt. So Sirius begs, and he pleads, and gives a thousand humbling apologies that he would never utter to another. And he means them, every last pained word because he has screwed up more this time than he knew was possible—he more than broke trust. And he watches as those eyes change back into acceptance, and forgiveness, and he thanks whatever higher power is out there; and curses himself for being so undeserving of a friend like Remus John Lupin.


	6. Chapter 6

Variations Six: The Ways I Come Back To You II

He feels that pull again. Second day in Azkaban and the Dementors are trying to pull away every last memory of Remus. He knows that he’ll be able to keep some, what with the number of things he’s regretted in life nearly equalling the number of times he’s hurt him. But he wants that name, face, smile, to stay forever, not an unknown man in pain. He tries so hard to stop that from being the only way Remus will come back, in mad dreams, like visions through a looking glass. He knows Remus will never otherwise—he’s failed him.

* * *

Remus saw the wilting rose sitting on the top of the bar as he left the restaurant he works at. He ran. It’s not normal, he told himself, it’s only a dying flower. But it’s that flower that a few days Before had been waiting on the table, with the note “I still love you,” signalling Sirius’ departure into hiding. And he had believed it, gained hope, until three days After, when he could finally bring himself to enter again, and on the table was the lovely wilting rose. And that was easily the cruellest metaphor life had ever sent.

* * *

“Thank-you” has begun to lose all meaning, as has “I’m sorry about your loss.” They can be as sorry as they wish, it won’t help him. It won’t end the pain he feels for the second time in his life. Third, because he thought it had ended it at the prank too. There are no words for the heartbroken, no healing for the bereft, no closure for anyone who has had love snatched away like that. He doesn’t know what he expected. He is the wolf in the fairy-tale after all, and when the Prince dies, isn’t he to blame?

* * *

It’s lonely here, he thinks as he falls, as he has been falling for so long now. He’s given up hope of hitting the ground in this lifetime, but then, that was the point of the gate, to strip away life. It’s more than lonely, than empty though. It’s Remus-less, it’s his fault again, it’s him committing the final fuck-up in his life. He promised him he’d stay this time, he promised him nothing could happen. It did. And it’s his fault. And Bellatrix’s. Now neither have each other, now neither have comfort. He can’t even see Remus from death.


	7. Chapter 7

Variations Seven: And Oh How We Fall

Again. He’s shouting at the top of his lungs angrily and why does it always end up like this? And next, Sirius—in that utter cold way he can get—replies and completely levels every thought in his head because it’s so cruel. Sirius is far better at this game than he, after all Sirius grew up with it. So, as expected, he storms off utterly hurt and dejected and prays that unexpectedly someone other than Sirius is the spy so that they don’t have to keep doing this, because pending and unsure-but-implied betrayal will soon make them end them.

* * *

He bears it like he would a cross. This dragging weight that sends fire up his spine for the pain. He’s hardened himself as best he could, but there’s no cure for his temper or control outside of anger and once again he’s gone too far. He wants to push the boundaries of Remus instead of himself, and then in a fit of passion always oversteps them. He makes that final departing blow or implies something too much and there again he’s bearing a cross in pain for his empty words that accomplish the intention he wanted but didn’t mean.

* * *

It’s like he’s chained to him. Remus could drag him through hell and back but he can’t escape him ever. He loves him, and god how he loves him, but when it’s this bad why can’t he just leave? He has to be the spy but he just can’t be. Mistrust has torn them apart, and yet he can’t leave, and he just wants things like Death Eaters to never have existed so that Remus can’t be one of them and they could be young and in love and not in fear of the other while linked by failing hope.

* * *

He’s paying for it now. They lost 12 years to mistrust and lies and look where they ended up. Sirius is miserable, and the darkness that sat more silently all those years ago surfaces often now. Sirius is still a rational human being, but the house is taunting him and dehumanising him, and Remus knows what happens when he’s not there and—childish as it sounds—it scares him. It never should have ended up like this. He’s thankful Sirius is still willing to have him, despite whatever life in hell is doing. But how goddamn selfish can you be?.


	8. Chapter 8

Variations Eight: The Bitter, The Sweet

Their first kiss was behind that ash tree, the one that they climbed on or wrestled under. They had been studying, he remembers—Remus was so worried about end-of-year exams. It wasn’t some cinematic moment, with music playing and cheesy lines about living on the dangerous side; it was just them, somehow lips and hands meeting through an awkward comment and neither having really anticipated it. He wanted to lie in the shade again, like they used to. He’d have to tell Remus that if he died that’s where they should bury him, in the memory of the ash tree.

* * *

They use to play games in First Year: sneaking around the forbidden parts of the castle, trying not to get caught. They began playing games again in Fifth Year: stag, rat, dog, and wolf. Animal games, and seeking thrill from the illegality of it all. Sometimes when Sirius is at his worst, in Grimmauld, Remus will still play games with him, trying to appease the near child-like mentality that Sirius takes on in his fits of terror they’re getting better now. His mind captures each of those moments he wants to forget, but he simply has to play the games.

* * *

Somehow, he muses, Remus is incomplete. Somewhere in the those light brown eyes, is an emptiness. He tries so hard to be more for him, he tries to put up a semblance of worthiness, but he knows it is not enough. Imprinted somewhere on Remus’ soul is twelve years of loneliness, of broken promises. Sirius can try all he wants, but he can’t fill those twelve years where he wasn’t there to love him, to stop him from falling back in on himself, as Remus is wont to do. It’s good now, it’s just never going to be good enough.

* * *

He smiles, when he remembers the way they used to stare after each other, not yet admitting they were less-than-straight. Innocent concerns from much deeper affections, all the things that youth have and grown-ups envy. That spring in their step, the world at their fingertips. He wouldn’t trade for anything what he has now, but he misses that somewhat—they way they used to be, if only so that they could rediscover this all over again; an endless cycle of doe-eyed innocence, beauty, passion, and if pain is necessary, well, there’s always the return to innocence to look forward to.


	9. Chapter 9

Variations Nine: Disabusement

He’s worried about James knowing. James is his best friend, the other half of his brain, and he worries about what he will say if he finds out, and with reason. This stuff isn’t supposed to happen. It’s not allowed, it’s not natural. He doesn’t know why that is. Being with Remus is almost too natural. He’s worried he’ll forget to breathe because it’s less instinctive to breathe than it is to watch Remus or card fingers through his hair or trade gentle kisses. And how can he—they—explain that to James, or anybody. How can they explain love?

* * *

Peter won’t take it well. Peter’s perfectly fine when it comes to werewolves and other such things, but Remus knows for certain this isn’t one of those things. Especially since it cuts him out of the ever-tightening loop of Marauders. They all love Pete like a brother, but Peter will never have with them a Sirius-James, and most certainly never a Remus-Sirius. Peter will simply be a Marauder, which is close but not as close, and Peter will resent that. Not that Peter would handle Sirius and himself being gay to begin with. It’s better he not know, for now.

* * *

“You have to tell Lily sometime. Everything,” James said, downing his pint.  
“What qualifies as everything?” Sirius asked nonchalantly.  
“Werewolf. Animagus. You two shagging. Everything.”  
“Why?”  
“Because she’s my fiancée, thus on a need-to-know basis, and I know you, Remus, would probably prefer to tell her yourself,” James stated stoically.  
“Yeah,” Remus replied hoarsely. “I’ll do it, I guess.”  
“Nope, we all will. You’re not getting out of this Jamesy-boy. She’s YOUR fiancée, as you said.”  
“Fine,” James replied, a little red, “but we do it slowly, it’s a lot of shock.”  
I hate that it always has to be.

* * *

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The wedding of Gideon and May was supposed to be one of the few happy things that occurred during this war. No one was supposed to drunkenly announce to the whole world that him and Sirius were ‘fucking queers.’ The room was dark but what Remus felt was just short of a spotlight on them when that idiot brother of Gideon’s pointed and spoke the fatal words. Now they are scowled at, whispered about, isolated. It isn’t a secret anymore, they’ve got nothing to protect them. He just wants their respect back.


	10. Chapter 10

Variations Ten: Flighty Things

It has to last forever, it has to. Sirius can’t imagine a place where a feeling this strong doesn’t exist. They’re young, he knows, and supposedly fools, but he knows there is no existence without Remus. Remus who is shy and loving and strong, and loves him. When he thinks of a world without this, he holds his breath, because he wouldn’t keep breathing if he lost it. He’s only eighteen, but he knows. He’d rather the stars fall, than wake up in the night alone, in an empty bed with a broken heart. It just has to last forever.

* * *

It’s not going to last forever. Someday Sirius will find someone he likes better, someone who is as restless and spirited as he is, and they’ll leave Remus behind. He knows this because everything is too good, because he loves Sirius too much, and life’s primary rule is that it is unfair. Soon something has to happen, and when it does, he’ll be alone in the dark, no Sirius to steal the emptiness away and heal him in every way. He’s eighteen, but he knows he can’t have something this good forever. Life forces Experience, the nemesis of blissful Innocence.

* * *

It’s been two years. Two long years after twelve bleak, cruel ones. He’s learned a lot since before Azkaban, a little more practicality, a little less whimsy. He’s learned that mountains fall, and dawn doesn’t always come as promised. He’s knows he can survive alone and he knows just how meaningless that life is in comparison to this. He can breathe still, he won’t stop, but the air is stale. He knows that things can change and do change and forever is too much to promise, but also believes that they’ve paid their price and fate can’t touch them now.

* * *

There’s a whisper on the wind. There’s that sweet, eager voice, crooning in his ear. Like a goddess that would have him for entertainment, creating havoc for the latest amusement on Mount Olympus.

Maybe it’s simply romantic temptation, a final end, the altarpiece of his life. But he pulls back, back from the voice, and the cliffside and leaves it at that.

Aphrodite is cruel, sweet Apollo exiled, and he, Epimetheus, has lived through the bitter fruits of Pandora’s Box, all now diminished. The river of Styx is too long a way wading, but the boatman has not come yet.


End file.
